


Substitute

by Tasseomancy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bitterness, Empty Relationship, First War with Voldemort, Longing, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, kinda anti-wolfstar, some sexual language and swears, wolfking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-19 09:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20328868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tasseomancy/pseuds/Tasseomancy
Summary: Remus uses Sirius as a substitute for who he really wants. Set post Hogwarts to first war era roughly.orI'm going to make proper wolfking happen even if it kills me and also I want to break into the homes of everyone who writes Remus using Regulus as a substitute for Sirius and beat them bc oh my GOD it's like MOST of the tag you COWARDS





	Substitute

It’s not what he wanted and it’s barely even enough. He’s too loud and coarse and rough, nothing like what he compulsively thinks about before bed, memories of elegant refined hands and proper posture from school. The vicious tongue and taunting polite affectation he can’t stop thinking about.

But Sirius is not Regulus. Not by any stretch.

Both brothers would be thrilled to hear it but for him it’s hell. He _has_ Sirius, he _doesn’t_ _have_ Regulus. It’s sad and desperate but “sad and desperate” is honestly the general summary of his entire social life, if not his whole life— he’s learned not to let it get to him as much anymore. He’ll take what he can get and frankly Sirius **_owes_** him something after the hell he’s put him through, and since Sirius would never admit that so Remus will just take it.

He wants Regulus— can imagine from their brief interactions as prefects what it would be like to be with him. Can see that smug little tilt of his mouth as he looks up at him taunting him into action, goading him to fuck the little shit into the wall and leave him bruised bitten, panting and satisfied. Can feel those curls in between his fingers while he strokes his hair, Regulus’s head on his chest, can hear the banter they’d have lying there, a soft echo of the acid they sling now. He wants to fuck Regulus senseless and then put some actually good sense back in that pretty head of his. Wants the satisfaction of that bigoted privileged bastardloving every minute of being with a man he claims is below him, is “sub-human”. Of changing his mind the fun way for once. Even if that’s utterly unrealistic but hey, it’s his erotic fantasy.

Sirius is just— he’s too _Sirius_. He’s the fucking dumbass he’s known since first year. A raging asshole but not the kind he’s looking for. He seems to do literally _everything_ to try and obliterate the traces of “pureblood nobility” Remus knows their parents beat into both of them. All the traits that Remus actually wants from him, the ones that Regulus still has, along with some he thinks might be solely Regulus— like the capacity to have a debate that doesn’t end in a shouting match. Sometimes he considers calling the whole arrangement off because Sirius just_ isn’t_ what he wants.

But then Sirius shows his fangs and Remus stays his hand.

He laughs in Remus’s face, looks down at him or Peter or everyone, says something he _knows_ is hurtful, shows his hand as an ignorant asshole. For a moment _( or hours or days ) _ he slips into that cruel imperious nature they both have and Remus thinks “Yeah, I can work with that”,can see the family ressemblance past the black hair, grey eyes and good looks. It’s those times that make it worth his while, it’s easy to picture it’s Regulus then. Their laughs are close and if he catches Sirius at the right angle he’s just the right shade of prick that he can pretend. In the dark he can imagine the sheets are green and those long fingers caught snitches not delt in mischief.

It’s not what he really wants but it’s enough, he supposes. It’s _something_. And he’s learned to make due, be glad he’s got anything at all. And he is, he’s practically drunk with all the good things in his life he_ does_ have. Loving parents, great friends, _some_ stability, a purpose in life. Everything he never thought he’d have. But it doesn’t stop him from wishing the body next to him was lither and paler, the hair longer and more curled, the good mornings more a pur than a growl.


End file.
